The six men in black were back; the second (or maybe third) time today.
"Go away," I say, my voice quivery and barely audible.
"But, Sir, it's the law. It has to be done."
They had the sheriff with them, this time.
I shake my head. I shout:
"No! Go away! Please just leave me alone. I'm not hurting anyone!"
"It's been five days, Mr. Cranton. You're--you're in a really bad-off way. You've got to let us take you to--to them. They know what to do to make everything all right."
"No! They'll embalm me. They'll close my eyes for good, then close the coffin lid and--and dig that damnable hole and put me in the ground forever! I couldn't stand that."
I turned from them, started back to my couch and my nap. But something caught my eye. I glanced sideways and--saw myself in the hallway mirror.
I shuffled back to the front door, my key in hand to let them in.
"Yes," I say, turning the key in the lock. "Take me away quickly. They need to hurry. They need to fix me up--right now!